


I guess you do the dirty now and I do the dancing

by stillinblossom



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Big Bang Challenge, Dancer!Phil, Dancing, M/M, Phandom Big Bang, Phandom Big Bang 2014, Piano Player!Dan, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillinblossom/pseuds/stillinblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is a budding pianist growing up in a town where nothing really happens. Time seems to stand still to the point of dust never even settling, but merely hanging in the air and painting the town in a glum, grey colour. Convinced you either get out or get stuck there forever he spends his days perfecting the skill that could take him to the bigger cities – the bigger existence – that he’s dreaming of. Then something does happen; Phil happens. Phil is older and in Dan’s eyes extraordinary at all times, but never more so than in the dim light of his dance studio, in his own world that Dan somehow gets an invitation to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I guess you do the dirty now and I do the dancing

_The light is starting to stream through the blinds, streaks of light falling softly over washed out sheets and long limbs. It must still be early, because the room is tinted in golden shades the way it only is during the early hours of the morning or late nights this time of year. Phil’s skin appears snowy white even like this, at the height of summer and in the warm morning light. Only a small amount of freckles shed over his shoulders and arms serves as a notion of the seasonal change. Dan has no idea as to what woke him up, but there’s something about this new sensation of waking up with his arm slung across Phil’s waist that makes him not particularly care for finding a reason. There’s a flurry of conflicting thoughts and emotions that he would try to sort through if it wasn’t for the one wonder overshadowing them all; how do you wake up next to someone with whom you’ve danced around the inevitable for years now? How do you wake up with a trail of reminders of last night littering the room, your skin and your thoughts and pretend like it isn’t a big deal; like it’s not what every atom making up your body has been longing for all this time?_

_But just as much as it’s a new sensation, it’s all the same an old one. It’s a scenario Dan has visited in his head more times than he can fathom himself. Phil could usually sense it happening before Dan had even caught on to how his mind wandered himself, and the way he’d say Dan’s name with a sharp and warning edge to his voice would be enough to anchor Dan in reality once more. Hope flares up and dies down within seconds, but it never stops burning your insides. The combination of new and old, certain and vague makes the situation brittle. It’s all too easy to get comfortable and forgot how new this in fact is and how it can easily crumble in the hands of either of them if approached too carelessly. So brittle it could probably crack under the weight of the thin sunrays, still in the early hours of the morning. Dan has explored every possible outcome over the years; every little detail has been turned over in morning light and in midnight glow until it all unveiled in front of his eyes. Still he’s not prepared for the expression that resides across Phil’s features when he sighs quietly, gently pushes Dan’s hands away and rolls over on his side so that he’s facing Dan. The unreadable expression turns to mild surprise when he finds Dan meeting his gaze rather than being fast asleep._  
_“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” he whispers, as if he doesn’t want Dan to wake up properly in case he’s still verging on falling asleep again. If he were to, Dan thinks, it’d be much more convenient for Phil, because that way they don’t have to talk about it, just like they never did talk about it before, despite Dan’s feeble attempts which Phil usually swatted away like they were unusually persistent insects during a warm summer’s day. It’s a bitter thought that Dan shamefully tucks away safely before he dares to answer._  
_“You didn’t. I think. What time is it?”_  
_“Only five.”_  
_“Why were you awake?”_  
_“No reason.”_  
_For a second that same expression from before – the one that didn’t quite seem to suit Phil – flickers and disappears again so quickly Dan would’ve missed it had he blinked at the wrong time. It seems foreign, like it belongs to someone else and not the Phil Dan knows. The Phil Dan knows (or knew – he’s not sure if he’s still entitled to using present tense of the verb) would smile as he talked about the future and make biting remarks talking about the past, but he wouldn’t dwell like he seemingly does now. That was a mood that between them used to belong exclusively to Dan.  
_ _“Go back to sleep.” Phil mumbles, like sleep already is reeling him in, or like he wants it to._

_Hesitation. It hits Dan that if there would be one word to describe the look in Phil’s eyes when he turned to him, it would have to be hesitation. It’s an expression that Dan has endless first hand experience with, and one that Phil used to try to brush off of him to his best abilities. Most times he did so with words, spoken with such conviction that they eventually would start to sound like universal truths to Dan. In more rare cases with his hands; fingers soothing over worry lines and tightened jaws. The latter was especially intimate, right up there balancing on the line between what they had decided was appropriate and what was not, and Dan would close his eyes and try to keep his face from showing how much he revelled in the touch._

_“Stop thinking. Sleep.” Phil mumbles into his hair, having yet again moved into Dan’s space, invading it completely with a presence that makes him feel vaguely dizzy. Dan presses a kiss on the freckled skin of Phil’s shoulder, too sleepy to question whether that’s on the list of things he’s allowed do now or not, and falls asleep thinking that he may have read Phil’s expression all wrong._

~~~~~~~~~ 

The door to his room flies open, letting the noise of the party flood in and hit Dan with full force where he lies, sprawled out onto his back on the bed. The notebook rested on his legs is almost as empty as it was an hour ago, and a restless feeling has its grip on him so tightly that no music will seep out and manifest itself on paper tonight. He squeezes his eyes shut, exasperated because he can’t deal with this, not tonight. Most days he’ll barely register the taunts and the way he, when being acknowledged at all, is being referred to as Beethoven and Simon’s weird little brother with a snort and a headshake. In mind he’s left this small town already, he’s got worlds painted in prettier colours ahead of him, and most days he doesn’t mind the bleakness of this one as long he keeps these images close. Some days he minds an awful lot, and those are the hardest but also the ones where music flows through his fingers the easiest – irony in its purest form. Tonight he minds, because he feels a bit like a protective layer of some sort has been stripped off of him and whatever pointed remark thrown his way will find its way under his skin tonight. There it will make a nest and create a constant chafing until he manages to turn it into notes and chords that he plays over and over again, until it’s no longer a part of him but rather something external, something a little less abstract. 

“Wrong room, mate.” He mutters, relived when he hears the door close and the noise being reduced to an endurable level once again.  
“Sorry, I- this isn’t the bathroom.”  
The tall boy with shaggy black hair has a faint smile lingering on his lips and light eyes glossy with the effect of alcohol. This boy, Phil, isn’t entirely new to Dan’s world. A good few years older, intriguing and with polite small talk and wide smiles that had Dan confused, he had on more than one occasion swept into their house and brought with him something that Dan was yet to identify. His presence, though fairly unobtrusive, had been like a sudden breeze through a stuffy room where the layer of dust had only increased since it first settled years ago. He was seemingly nothing like the people his brother usually associates with, and Dan wasn’t ever sure what to make of any of it. He’s not any wiser now, when Phil is leaning against his door, looking like he’s lost but doesn’t particularly mind it. The logical thing would be to simply tell him that the room is two doors down the hall and find himself alone once again. But the surprise of finding the boy who once held a brief but enthusiastic conversation with him about how number seven is undoubtedly the best out of all the Final Fantasy games – like it didn’t matter that Dan was just someone’s little brother and hopelessly uncool at that – currently standing in his bedroom, quite clearly drunk and with a bottle of hard liquor still in his hand, isn’t a set up for being logical.  
“Do you always bring vodka with you to the bathroom?” is what he comes up with instead, and it makes the other let out a fleeting laugh. It’s a soft sound, and it rolls out of his mouth like shiny pearls that spread around the floor of Dan’s bedroom. The sound alone strikes a chord in Dan that he doesn’t fully recognize.  
“Well you know what they say about leaving your drink unattended.”  
Dan finally thinks to drag himself up to a sitting position, crossing his legs cautiously without tearing his eyes from Phil. Every part of his being is prepared to fight or flight at any sight of the conversation taking the expected but unpleasant turn.  
“I think that mostly applies to drinks, you know, beer and stuff.” Dan states, hoping his voice doesn’t rattle out his heart with its erratic beating.  
“Yeah. Can’t be sure enough though. You’ll grow up to be cynical one day, too.”  
With a smile Phil pushes himself off of the door, mildly unstable on his feet, and moves towards the other end of the room.  
“I’m not a child.” Dan feebly protests, but there is no real strength behind the argument because with his 16 besides the other’s 20 and his gawkiness besides the other’s air of certainty, the truth is that he feels very much like a child in this moment.  
“I didn’t say that. I was saying you’re a bit naïve. I think. It’s nice though, hold on to that for as long as you can.”  
Phil hands him the bottle and sits himself down in front of Dan’s piano. His fingers travel clumsily over a few keys, pressing them at random or trying to play something from memory but not succeeding very well.  
“You play?” he asks, half turned to Dan who’s clasping the bottle unsure of what to do with it, blinking dumbstruck and trying to find a way to get on top of a situation spiralling out of his control. Phil might be making fun of him somehow, without him realising in what way, because even though he seems genuine enough Dan finds no probable reason why he should be this nice to him. 

Years prior Dan got invited to a party; he went there dressed in his brand new shirt. A shirt he’d had to beg and plead for weeks to get his mother to buy, assured that with this shirt in possession the real Dan would finally shine through the way he never felt like it had before. The party had already started when he arrived, a joyous mixture of music and laughter spilling out through the open window. The host, the prettiest girl in school and naturally the first one to host a birthday party without any parents present, opened the door at his second knock. Behind him was the rest of the accepted lot lined up, excited smiles gracing their lips. To Dan they looked like a herd of wild animals, teeth bared and eyes glowing, ready to pounce their quarry at the first sign from their leader. He had just given a hard-set nod when she announced that he wasn’t coming in, her head tilted and an amused look on her face; it was just a joke and surely he must understand that someone like him couldn’t be friends with people like them? The material of his shirt seemed suddenly rough and the fit undeniably wrong. The label scratched his neck with every movement. He sat on a set of swings, freezing to the bone clad in the shirt that was supposed to be a start of a new life for him, head pounding and his feet making imprints in the sand, pondering how long before he could go back to the comfort of his bedroom without having to share the humiliation that laid in the reason for his early return.

When people show their true intentions, it’s a worse blow if you’ve allowed yourself to be lulled into fake safety. Now he’s not as naïve as Phil thinks, but he will let him believe that he is for now. It’s why he just settles with a nod once again.  
“Cool. I dance.”  
“You dance?” The scepticism is blatantly apparent in Dan’s response. Every time Phil opens his mouth Dan is handled another piece of the puzzle that is Phil, but none of them seem to fit together at this point.  
“Yeah. There’s this academy in London that I really want to get accepted to, but I don’t know if I can. Or maybe I’ll just move there anyway, take some crappy job and just try to get my foot in somewhere, you know? Start small and dance my way up. Get a crappy flat with no hot water and a mattress on the floor, the artist cliché, you know? If I ever get out of this shithole of a town, that is.” He laughs again, but it’s not the rippling sound from before but a sharp and dry laugh that ends as abruptly as it started. As confusing as it may be being at the receiving end of this flood of confessions, Dan just soaks it up as he’s grasping for something to confide himself, safe enough not to risk anything by letting Phil in on it, but intriguing enough to keep the other from getting up from that chair and returning to the party like this odd conversation never happened.  
“I’d like to be a concert pianist, one day.” Dan finally admits, as much of a surprise to himself as it seemingly is to Phil, since it’s the first thing he says without a hint of a cold distance in his voice. Phil recovers with an enthusiastic nod.  
“Maybe we’ll both be in London one day, then. We could go watch each other perform. VIP seats and all.”  
The smile on Dan’s lips can’t be helped. It’s already easy, dangerously easy, to dream about Phil becoming a permanent fixture in his life. 

The wall next to the piano is decorated with a clutter of things he loves for one reason or another, a wall designed to make him smile and not loose sight of that brightly coloured future. It’s a mess of little notes, cut outs, pictures and words that under Phil’s stare suddenly feel all too personal and revealing for Dan to feel comfortable with it.  
“I loved that book as a child.” Phil exclaims suddenly, eagerly pointing to a drawing from Where the wild things are. “Actually I still really love it. I still have that sad, angry little boy Max screaming ‘I’ll eat you up’ inside me, somewhere.” He punctuates the sentence with a tiny roar that dissolves into laughter as he shakes his head like he can’t quite believe he did that. Dan can’t either. He can’t believe that this, or even Phil, is real. He would like to say something about how his throat still feels tight those times when he picks up the book from its position at the back of his shelf and takes in the drawings and the words. But that’s exactly the kind of thing you can’t tell people, because it’s the kind of information that Phil could walk out this room with and hand other people on a silver plate. They have enough material for their repertoire already without Dan giving them more.  
“Yeah, it’s pretty great.” is all he manages.

Phil leaves eventually, an apologetic smile and an “I’ll see you around, yeah?” to round up their hour-long conversation while Dan’s brother stands in the doorway looking suspiciously between the two. And Dan readily accepts that this was his if not fifteen minutes of fame, then at least his fifteen minutes of getting the undivided attention from someone like Phil Lester. He also figures that’s okay. He never really expected to get it in the first place, so it feels more like being handed a gift when expecting a blow.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Their odd interaction, however, doesn’t turn out to be a one-time occurrence. Still Dan is in no way less confused to find that. Little by little something shifts, and suddenly it’s Simon who gets the least of Phil’s attention, and every time Phil falls onto Dan’s bed or sits down on his piano stool Dan futilely tries to solve the riddle of how he became the main attraction, because even he can’t pretend that’s not the case anymore. It’s undeniable when a scowl starts appearing on Simon’s face whenever Phil’s name is mentioned. Dan’s not triumphant, he’s mostly just in awe, but for the first time Dan’s being chosen over Simon and it’s a feeling that flutters in his chest like a newly born but surprisingly viable butterfly.

Phil’s on a gap year, because apparently even in a place where you give yourself to dancing they still have their minds set on trigonometry, British history, grades, and wantonness mattering, and Phil never really could bring himself to care while he was still in school. He divides his time between studying with a newfound determination, working every hour he can scrape up on various demeaning jobs, dancing his heart out – and Dan. One night, when they’ve been together far more days than not in the past few weeks, he brings Dan to see a piece of his world after carefully making sure to only make appearances in Dan’s up until this point. He leads him over cobblestones and through alleyways, to a large brick house in the outskirts of town. The run-down building is surrounded by a garden that is uncared for to the point of the long grass swaying in the wind and fruit trees almost going under due to the weight of unpicked fruit that no one even cares to steal. They walk to the back, no words shattering the stillness that’s hanging over the place, and Phil unlocks a cellar door to reveal an open room only dimly lit with bare light bulbs and the small amount of evening sun that’s gleaming through small, dirty windows near the ceiling. The far end of the room has something that with a dash of imagination could be interpreted as a bar, and battered wooden chairs are piled high in another corner. The air is moist and has the characteristics of a room that hasn’t been vented or used much in the last decade. The smell of dust and mould is striking, and the feeling of abandonment creeps up Dan’s spine in a way that makes him glad he’s not alone.  
“What even is this place?” he mutters, more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit. Phil on the other hand looks more at peace here than Dan has ever seen him before.  
“The man who manages it used to know my grandmother. He agreed to let me use it as much as I want as long as I don’t bring other people here.” Dan is about to dryly point out that he did just bring someone here, but Phil interrupts him with a dismissive gesture followed by “you’re not ‘people’”. Dan has to bite his lip to hide the all but casual smile building up; he’s pretty sure he’s the first to see this place with Phil and that has to mean something, maybe even something big.  
“If your parents grew up here, it’s likely they spent some Saturday nights in this place in their youth.” Phil continues.  
“This place?”  
He lets his eyes wander over the bare walls and the wildly unwelcoming atmosphere.  
“Yeah, they used to hold those dances here. The way my grandma used to talk about it, it must’ve been the highlight of the week for a lot of people.” He shakes his head, and muffled by the hoodie he pulls over himself he mutters something resembling; “I know, this fucking town…”

Phil dances, and Dan is torn between not being able to tear his eyes away and wanting to because this is all too intimate, it’s like something opens up in Phil and reveals itself in every movement of his body, and Dan just can’t look away even though it feels like looking through the creek of a door and discovering something not meant for your eyes. With every movement of his body and every change in the music Phil’s walls are getting torn down little by little, and through the cracks Dan can see raw, unaltered emotions, the kind that even a fairly open person like Phil usually wouldn’t let out in their primary state. It scares Dan; he’s so used to guarding his own emotions like they’re the most precious – or perhaps the most shameful – things he owns. If Dan thought Phil was beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to what’s before his eyes when he dances. Something inside Dan crumbles as he watches him, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. He wonders if this sinking feeling in his stomach is being in love or something more specific and less happy: unrequited love. Whatever kind of love it may be, nothing he’s ever felt quite compares to it.

Phil slowly comes down from his high and finds his way back to their shared reality, blinking like he’s surprised to find that the walls still have an unflattering tone of brown-beige and Dan is still staring wide eyed at him. He turns off the music coming from the out-dated stereo and slides down the wall next to Dan.  
“That was…” Dan trails off, unable to find the appropriate word to end the sentence with. Phil lets out a laugh.  
“What surprised you the most? The lack of tights or the fact that a clumsy person like me could dance like that?”  
“The lack of tights was a relief, but mostly the clumsy thing.”  
Phil leans his head back against the wall, trying to regain his breath before answering. Dan in turn tries hard to not let his eyes get stuck at how Phil’s hair is sticking to his forehead, how his prominent clavicles are on display in his loose tank top, how his chest heaves or how the pale skin of his neck is exposed deliciously in this position. He’s pretty certain he succeeds in none of the areas.  
“My grandma danced. She’s the reason I got to dance at all. My mother would never have paid for these lessons. I mean, she couldn’t, but most of all she didn’t want to. When I cursed my lack of grace my grandmother would just remind me about her own clumsiness and how she had still been a great dancer back in the day. She used to say that we were both too lost in our own worlds to keep track on such a minor detail as our own bodies when we weren’t dancing. And then when we danced it was everything else that became minor instead.” Phil is smiling now, fondly, sadly, and Dan doesn’t dare to say anything in fear it will make Phil snap out of it and laugh it off as silly sentimentality. This is the closest he’s even been to understanding Phil, and he doesn’t want to risk ruining any chance of deeper insight. It suddenly strikes Dan that the kind smiles and the politeness – that is Phil’s grandmother. The cynic and almost angry streaks – that is his mother.  
“It killed her that she couldn’t dance anymore. But I could, and it’s what kept me going when I was your age and cared a lot more about what other people said about me dancing than I do now. When she passed away I had already started working myself, so I could keep paying for lessons and bus tickets out of town, because my mum still wouldn’t. She stills snorts every time I mention the academy, so I’ve stopped. But she’ll see one day. I’m going to send her a ticket, front row ones, to my first big show.”  
He unclasps his hand that had been balling into a fist while he talked, staring absentmindedly at the marks from nails dug deeply into the palm of his hand. Dan thinks about running his finger over those marks, smoothing them out and preventing them from appearing there again, but he doubts he’s in a place where he can do that. He wishes more than anything, more than he dreams of bigger cities and grand pianos, that one day he will be. 

Dan’s emotions grow over the following months, in an alarming pace that makes him wonder if one day they won’t be able to fit inside him anymore. He’ll burst at the seams with the force of the first love. And Phil, he’s just there. Constantly. He spends as much time in the Howell household as he dares without risking being seen as a hassle, and then even more when Dan’s mother assures him he won’t ever be with a warm smile followed by a questioning look thrown Dan’s way. Dan tries his best to pretend he can’t see those looks, and goes out of his way to not end up in a situation where his mother could think of asking him any of the questions he sees in her eyes while she watches their interactions. Her eyebrows lace together in confusion when she finds them on the couch, legs entwined all sorts of way, or Dan’s head resting on Phil’s stomach as their eyes never leave the television screen. He knows what she’s wondering and he can’t give her an answer because he doesn’t even have one for himself. But there’s only so long you can avoid someone living under the same roof as you, and the conversation he has been dreading happens one night almost the second Phil’s out the door.  
“So… Phil’s been here a lot lately.” She tries cautiously, sitting down on the couch next to Dan. He doesn’t pry his eyes off of the television but his heartbeat is picking up every second passing by while he tries to find a way to answer the question and prohibit further ones.  
“Guess he has.”  
“He’s a nice boy. I do feel sorry for him, something at home can’t be quite right if he feels like he wants to spend all his time out of there.”  
Her words lights a spark of anger in Dan, because while she’s probably right, her pity is the last thing he thinks Phil would want. Most of all he can’t see why she even has to try to obtain information that isn’t hers to know, anyway. He says nothing, though, because no matter the reason she’s still letting him spend all the time he wants with the older boy, and Dan’s not going to risk that changing over a snappy comment. It wasn’t very long ago that he considered every minute he got to spend with Phil as some kind of temporary perk; now he doesn’t even want to begin to imagine having those moments being taken away from him. He doesn’t want to go back to an everyday life where his days are spent alone in his room and not constantly occupying himself with the wonder of what would happen if he suddenly kissed Phil, no matter how foolish the latter may make him feel at times.  
“It can be… confusing, being your age. But you know you can talk to me and your dad, right?”  
At this point his heart is beating so hard and fast in his ears, it makes his mother’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a static infused telephone line. He wants to get up and leave, but there must be a communication failure between his brain and his body, because instead he just sits there. His mum is starting to tread ground that isn’t even safe for him to walk alone, full of pitfalls and sinkholes, let alone with the added weight of her next to him.  
“Just… I don’t want you to feel like there are things you have to do just because Phil’s older. We’re here for you if you need to talk, is all I’m saying, alright?”  
Dan finally finds his voice again, but it sounds foreign and tense when he mumbles that he really doesn’t know what she’s on about.  
“Alright.” She sighs. And then when she gets up to leave she adds, perhaps not so much to Dan than to herself, “he’s a good boy though, isn’t he?”

~~~~~~~~~ 

The old public pool, with its cracked tiles and grass springing up from between them, emptied and out of use for as long as Dan can remember, becomes their hideout for when the nights get longer and the weather too warm to be spent in the stuffy basement or in Dan’s small room. It’s secluded enough to be a bit of a hassle to get to, but not secluded enough for those who desperately want to not be seen with their recipes for boredom. Most of the time they’re alone there though, dangling their legs off the edge of the deepest end, or on their backs at the bottom of the pool. All that is visible from down there is the sky directly above, and barely a hint of a breeze will reach them. It’s calm and uneventful; somehow like a microcosm for the whole town with its inalterability. The difference being that this is a calm Dan welcomes, even with a numbness that eventually spreads across his limbs from the hard tiles under his body. Over time, the idea of London, of a shared flat and a different life, will start to frequent their conversations. Sometimes it’s Dan who is struck with a sense of hopelessness at the days and months and years of greyness that is still ahead of him. He’ll rest his head on Phil’s chest, taking comfort in the steady heartbeat while Phil talks about the small but somewhat cosy flat they’ll share, and how they will spend their last scraps of money on tickets to some intimate concert or show on some off west end theatre at the end of the month when money is its tightest. With breathless hope he tells Dan that everything will work out, of how soon they’ll be on those stages and much bigger ones themselves. Phil’s voice is sending vibrations tumbling around in his chest when he talks, it finds its way into Dan’s ears, his head, and it sounds like a lullaby. Other times it’s Phil who needs to hear it. Dan will shyly play with dark strands of his hair while talking about late nights in scruffy bars verging on being pretentious, and Phil waking up to Dan playing Moonlight Sonata, a song which Dan has found new pleasure in playing since he learned it was Phil’s favourite. They dream big, naively and shamelessly, and only on those nights will Dan dare to almost cross over the lines that Phil has drawn, or at the very least try to question their beings.

~~~~~~~~~ 

There seems to be a grey sheet hanging over the whole of their town; somewhat transparent it will let the sun through only during the hottest months. When it does, it happens in a similar way that pollution stops the ultraviolet light from bouncing back up where it came from, and those rare times when rays of sun filters through, the sheet promptly traps them down on earth, making the air appear thick and hard to breathe. One thing holds the town together. It makes the villagers stay put through closed public dances and cafés that only survive a year at a time before another hopeful soul takes over the remnants and pray for better luck, and that’s the factory. In truth there is more than one factory in town, but there’s one in particular without which the town wouldn’t exist and most of the citizens wouldn’t have food on their tables, or even something to set their alarms for in the mornings all year, every year. It’s spoken about as the factory because it’s like an iron lung for a town that everyone knows is dying. Once upon a time it had been a pride and joy; with time it became a necessity. No one likes to talk about death, may it be about human beings or about life as you know it, but every year there’s the threat of that last source of life being taken away from the town. There’s talk about moving production and heading in new directions, of low-priced labour in faraway destinations. So far it’s always turned out to be high-flying plans, but all the same workers are getting a little paler for every year, not quite being able to recover the blush of their cheeks until the next big scare is hovering above them again, threatening to overturn their lives in one sweeping motion. Dan sees it happen up close. For as long as he’s been able to understand it, or ever since his parents were no longer able to hide their worry, he’s seen it happen to his parents. They’re getting a little more washed out for every year, and when that time comes around once more Dan finds himself spilling over with worry in front of Phil after years of observing in silence.  
“That place uses you up and spits you out when they’ve no longer got use for you. It’s like it’s sucking everything out of people and they won’t let go until there’s nothing left, and then you’ve wasted your life, and for what? A worn out body and a pension that hardly lets you enjoy the time you have left. And once you’re in you don’t get an out. It will break you down.” Phil’s voice is sharp, words pouring out in a fury, and it’s not until well after silence has settled over the pool that he seems to realise his own words. The moment he does he rolls over onto his side, fingers firmly but gently circling Dan’s wrist, prying away the arm that Dan has covering his eyes in an effort to push tears back before they even surface.  
“I’m such an idiot. Dan, I’m sorry.”  
He moves closer, their bodies almost overlapping. Dan opens his eyes only when he feels hair brush over his cheek.  
“I’m sure that won’t happen with your parents. Really don’t listen to me. I’m an idiot, you’d be an idiot too for listening to me.” His words startle something caught between a sob and a laugh out of Dan, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead he just about takes the breath out of Dan altogether when he lets his own lips grace Dan’s. He barely has time to register anything other than the softness of Phil’s lips followed by the sharp intake of air that makes him suspect that he’s maybe not the only one shocked by the whim. Maybe Phil sometimes loses his footing around Dan too, experiences moments of vertigo just like Dan. The feeling settles hot and heavy in Dan’s stomach.  
“You know you’re the brains out of the two of us. I’m just here for my looks.” Phil jokingly offers after pulling away slightly, only his hand around Dan’s wrist still lingering. The tension dissolves with the cheap line, the kind that costs less than truths in terms of what you lay on the line, whiffs of breaths dancing over each other’s skin as bodies shake with laughter. Then they move away from the detour of their original plan, right back to not talking about it. Everything always according to plan, Dan thinks when he’s walking home. He’s certain that tomorrow, when he no longer can sense the feeling of Phil’s lips on his own, the empathize will be on the bitter rather than on the sweet in this bittersweet feeling.

~~~~~~~~~ 

The first time Phil goes to London to audition Dan does his very best to not think too much about how Phil must feel there, alone. He knows he hasn’t even told his mother about it, he knows his friends are oblivious to it, and something in Dan aches with the notion of how no one other than him is nervous for Phil in this very moment, and it’s the feeling that wins over the weaker sense of pride blooming in his chest from the knowledge that he occupies that role in Phil’s life.  
“They don’t care.” Phil explains with a shrug when Dan asks about it. “They tolerate my ‘quirky interest’.” The exaggerated air quotes and the roll of his eyes doesn’t come off as nonchalantly sarcastic as he most likely aimed for. “Doesn’t mean they understand it.”  
Dan furrows his brows at that, bothered by the fact that others choose to not see the pure passion radiating from Phil and the beauty that the sight entailed. His expression had chased a laugh out of Phil, and had him lightly nudge Dan with an elbow.  
“Don’t look all troubled about it. It doesn’t matter to me. It’s enough that you care. It’s fine.” His smile is unstrained, perhaps even fond, but Dan still has to stop himself from further pushing it with a “is it though?”. Was it fine being without support from the people you’re surrounded with? He doesn’t know, never having been in a place where he would need to ponder the question all that much.

Despite all this, Phil’s answer is still a firm no when Dan asks to come with him on the audition day. So Dan spends the day with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s the feeling you get when something horrible dawns on you, the split second when you think you’ve forgotten something essential and fear crashes down on you, only it never stops or even lessens over the course of the day. Instead it intensifies each time he reaches for his phone only to find that the radio silence has yet to be broken. 

It’s almost midnight when Dan startles awake, phone still clutched tightly in his hand and now displaying what he’s been waiting to see all day. Phil’s rather breathless when Dan picks up.  
“I’m outside. Let me in?”  
His expression, however, is unreadable when Dan lets him in and signals for him to be quiet. During the mere minute it takes to carefully manoeuver between furniture and fumble their way up the stairs it feels like Dan’s heart will beat out of the restriction of his chest.  
“So how did it go? Feels like it’s my future at stake here.” he sheepishly admits in a hushed voice once the door of his room closes behind them. And in a way it is, with the way he’s made sure to entwine every possible part of his life with Phil’s. The feeling only intensifies when he takes in Phil leaning against his door in a startlingly familiar pose.  
“I think it might have went well? It felt so damn good, so maybe that means it went well?” The questioning is evident in his voice, but at the same time, there is a careful hopefulness residing in his features. It’s enough to give Dan the courage to let his smile grow as he slides into bed and lifts up the blanket as an invitation. All tension drains from his body the moment Phil toes off his shoes, makes quick work of removing a few attires and settles next to Dan. Close, so close.  
“So, London then?” Dan gets out, and earns a shove much too gentle to mean much of anything.  
“Don’t jinx it, idiot!”  
There’s no explanation as to why they’re suddenly both giddy, apart from blaming it on the adrenaline they have both run on on all day finally starting to wear off. They’re both close to laughter, fully content in feeling it fizz just beneath the surface as they try to keep silent enough for it not to carry.  
“Will you wait for me?” Dan eventually gets out, batting his eyelashes with a mock expression that he hopes reads as coy.  
“’Course I will. By the time you come, I will have found all the best places and I’ll show you all of them.”  
Dan falls asleep with the touch of Phil’s legs tangling with his own feeling like a promise and a taste of what will be.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Dan has to live through almost a week of Phil quietly brooding and waving off any questions with an act that speaks of finality. Not once during those days does he invite Dan to his makeshift dance studio, but he takes him with on other outings, each one more out of character than the other. There’s the time they break into the abandoned cottage at the edge of town, the one that has doors nailed shut but windows gaping open and is still full of personal items from whoever left it in a rush. Everything about the place, from the faded family photos to the old crib in one of the corners spooks Dan. When he tells Phil just that he expects him to lightly tease him about it after promptly agreeing to leave with him. But Phil simply continues, stops only once he reaches the stairs to shoot Dan a look that challenges him to follow. There’s a desperation painting every one of his actions, like he’s pouring all of himself into impressing Dan, albeit in all the wrong ways. 

Then there’s the trip to the pool that has Dan thinking that maybe things are going back to normal again. But normal isn’t Phil smoking cigarette after cigarette, offhandedly offering Dan one repeatedly like he isn’t paying enough attention to hear him deny it each time, let alone to remember that Dan hasn’t ever smoked nor particularly wanted to try. Normal definitely isn’t Phil rambling about an upcoming party and how wasted he’s going to get, following it up with bragging about the girl who sometimes works the same shifts as him at the corner shop, and who he catches looking at him a little too often being a possible – if not given – hook-up. Dan has never expected Phil to turn someone down with him or his feelings in mind, he’s not that delusional, but he also never expected to have Phil flaunt the distance between them in front of him. Not when they both know how blatantly, utterly smitten Dan is with Phil, though they both like to pretend it doesn’t colour their entire friendship.  
“You’re an asshole. Fuck you, Phil.” are Dan’s last words before he gets up and groggily makes his way to the shallow end where he can heave himself up from the bottom of the pool. He hates how affected he is, hates everything from the physical reaction Phil’s words cause to the way his voice trembles with disappointment and hurt. But even in his current state of fury he can’t help but look over his shoulder to see if Phil has made any attempt to chase after him. If he blinks away the angry tears pooling at the edge of his vision and squints his eyes he can make out a thin veil of smoke dissolving in the air above the deep end of the pool; a sure indication that Phil is still on his back, taking long drags and most likely trying and failing at creating the smoke rings he claims to master.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Dan finds Phil waiting for him when he comes home the next days, sitting crossed legged on the stone wall outside his house. The sad slope of his shoulders is visible long before his crestfallen expression is.  
“Hi.” he greets carefully, like he’s waiting for Dan to blow up to him again.  
“What do you want?” The words come out entirely without an edge to them.  
“Need to talk to you.”  
“About what?”  
“How I was an ass to you. And how I didn’t get into the academy.”  
Dan’s head snap up at that.  
“What?” he asks weakly. Phil just shrugs. His lips are forming a tense line and the look he’s giving Dan is pleading. That’s how Dan understands the severity of the blow Phil’s taken, because Phil doesn’t ever plead. He is unapologetic, he’s all hard exterior, and Dan doesn’t know how to even attempt to hold him together when he usually never lets Dan see him fall apart in the first place. He ends up going with his instinct, arms finding their way around Phil as he nuzzles into his neck like he’s the one seeking comfort and not the other way around. It still seems to calm Phil, because he lets out a shaky breath as he puts his feet down on the ground on either side of Dan and pulls him closer, until no space is to be found between them. Everything lines up; from the way Phil’s arms fit around his waist to how Dan suddenly can only think of one thing. Usually Dan would have an onrush of thoughts going through his mind, wondering if this was okay, if he was overstepping any lines or coming on too strong, but right now all he can think of is how he wants to make Phil’s expressions go loose and soft again. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

The sun is shining on the day when the last things – and himself, he has to stop and remind himself a shocking amount of times – are being shipped away to London. The little town is showing itself off from its best side; tiny drops of dew giving their garden a light shimmer in the warm morning light. He chooses to view it as his parting gift, perhaps an overdue apology of sorts. Despite having lain awake most of the night trying to sort through the various feelings he’s experiencing, he finds he’s none the wiser in the morning. His mum seems to sense his overwhelmed state, because between teary comments about his departure that just seems to slip out, she pulls herself together and gives him reassuring smiles and little comments about how wonderful his new life in the city is going to be. 

It doesn’t truly get hard until Phil arrives. Not just because it might be the goodbye he’s been dreading the most, but because it’s in the moment he sees Phil’s decidedly miserable look that it sinks in. He’s moving. He’s leaving, and he’s never coming back to be here in the same way. Next time he comes here he’ll be visiting rather than returning home, and he spares only a brief second to wonder what that will feel like while Phil helps loading the last couple of boxes and sacks. He manages to combine making polite small talk with Dan’s parents and sending Dan pensive glances that he quickly transforms into pulling silly faces when he is caught looking. Dan had never imagined that leaving behind a place he despises would feel quite as taxing as this does.

He’s at total loss of words when the departure is inevitable. Phil doesn’t seem to be much better off, standing with his arms helplessly hanging until he finds a better use of them and wraps them almost painfully hard around Dan. It’s in that moment Dan remembers the book at the back of his bookshelf, now more likely residing at the bottom of one of the many boxes already at his new flat. He remembers the excitement he’d had to smother upon seeing Phil point to the picture of the Wild Things up on his wall. And when he is unable to find his own words, he finds them from the pages of that book instead.  
“Don’t go. I’ll eat you up, I love you so.” he mumbles into the dip between Phil’s shoulder and collarbone. It doesn’t even make sense, because he’s the one leaving out of the two of them, but it makes Phil choke on a breath and move his hand up to Dan’s neck, weaving his fingers into his hair and tugging slightly. Dan doesn’t even care that his parents are there, both respectfully keeping up a busy façade, he just lets his eyes flutter shut and doesn’t stop the quiet whine from leaving his mouth. Dan finds it’s both comforting and terrifying to hear Phil’s voice be equally tight as his own when he finally speaks up. It’s barely above a whisper.  
“Wild thing, I’ll eat you up.” 

~~~~~~~~~ 

The first couple of weeks are filled with lengthy phone calls. Dan talks about the places he discovers and the people he meets, balancing it out with complaining about certain aspects of school when he’s overcome with guilt about flaunting his excitement over his new life in front of Phil. In turn Phil talks about his dance progress and makes jokes about the unyielding ways of the town and its population. More than once he has Dan in stiches painting somewhat mean caricatures over specific people, or about the way the villagers are in general. Over time Dan’s stories get a little less single-mindedly idyllic as he find himself less inclined to beautify all his new experiences, rather settling on a more level-headed appreciation of how things have turned out.

He talks about the homeless man who resides near Dan’s apartment, of the way he looked at Dan like he was Jesus returned to tread the rain coated streets of London. He got familiar with the look after one morning when he, after a moment of hesitation, had bought an additional cup of coffee for the man from the coffeehouse where it was cheap enough to make up for the fact that the beverage had a lingering hint of being burnt as well as slightly stale from spending too much time on a hot plate. Besides, already after a few weeks it had come to be a quite enjoyable part of his morning routine; going down, the liquid brought him a kind of warmth that wasn’t purely fuelled by the temperature of the drink. Some of the warm and homey atmosphere of the coffeehouse – which by far outdid the comforting atmosphere he had tried but yet failed to create in his own flat – seemed to be preserved in the bitter beverage. 

The man gave him the same look again some week later when Dan had prepared a second sandwich and handed it over to him on his way to university one morning. It had been raining all night and not knowing if the man had found a shelter, Dan imagined the only thing worse than being drenched must be being drenched and starving. He tells Phil in what he hopes passes for an amused tone about how the man now tips an imaginary hat at Dan whenever he approaches. He leaves out how the gesture makes his stomach knot together with shame because it’s just cheap cups of bad coffee or spare sandwiches, and for those he doesn’t deserves any of this man’s gratitude, not really. Especially not since the only reason why he had even looked twice at the huddled up figure in ill-fitting and dirty clothes, that first week in London, may very well have been because he noticed that between a mess of hair and a dirty, knitted scarf shone light blue eyes similar to someone else’s. It led him to make the deduction that there was either no such thing as selflessness in this world, or that there was, but he simply lacked it. The space assigned for selflessness must be filled with something else in him, something which made him search for eyes, hands, and voices that could substitute the ones he really longed for, but made him avert his gaze from people who couldn’t do that for him, even when they pleaded for his attention or even his help. None of this he tells Phil, because it’s the very core from where the shame radiates. How could he tell kind, warm Phil who if selflessness was a possible trait was probably overflowing with it?

He’s perhaps a bit too caught up in his own stories to notice Phil’s are getting shorter with each phone call. Had he been a little more observant and a little less anxious to include Phil in every experience the best he can by retelling them to him, he might’ve saved himself a brutal awakening.

There’s nothing that isn’t off about the call that ends up altering their relationship almost seamlessly into something partially new. It’s like something in that conversation tilts their world just slightly; enough to have to struggle to stay upright from that point on, but not enough to be able to put a finger on what’s making every interaction feel a bit laborious. This time the conversation doesn’t flow the way they’re so used to, making Dan almost breathe out in relief when Phil admits that he has news.  
“So do I, actually. Was gonna save it for a bit, but.. You show me yours, I show you mine?”  
“Right.” Phil says, hesitation not completely vanished from his voice. “I kind of got a new job? It’s full time, so I won’t have to balance three jobs at the same time and I will still make more money.”  
“Yeah? That’s great!” He means for it to come out encouraging, but it comes out mostly confused instead. There’s something off about the way Phil says it, like he’s rushing to get it out and over with. There might even be a twinge of anxious want for approval in there somewhere, but it doesn’t make much sense, so Dan quickly dismisses the idea.  
“Yeah it’s… well it’s not ideal, but with one job I will have nights free and weekends, and I thought that maybe I could get in some more time in the studio. Maybe afford more private lessons, that sort of thing.”  
“That sounds amazing, really. What’s the job then?” He’s not sure why he asks, because there’s really just one option, with the way Phil’s voice keeps wavering between forced optimism and almost challenging resolution.  
“At the factory.”  
However expected, it takes Dan several beats to collect himself from the impact the words have.  
“What about all your speeches about how that place sucks the life out of you?”  
“Dan-“  
“No! What about ‘once you’re in there’s no way out’?” He hears how ugly it gets when he lowers his voice and speaks with an air of self importance while mocking Phil’s words, knows Phil probably doesn’t deserve the dig he’s throwing his way right now, but he’s far too angry to reel it back in. Nothing is going the way it was supposed to. Phil was supposed to be the last puzzle piece to his new life, he wasn’t supposed to tie himself to a sinking ship and lay down oceans between them.  
“It’s not going to be like that, Dan, it’s just for now.”  
“No it’s not.”  
“I swear it is.”  
“Well you’re full of shit. You also said you’d audition again and be here with me.”  
“I’m still going to audition.” he mumbles, sounding resigned more than angry at Dan’s outburst. What deflates Dan and makes him apologize, in the end, is that tired undertone. 

It’s not until long after they hesitantly hang up that Dan remembers that he never revealed his own news, in the shadow of Phil dropping his. He sends off a quick text – “forgot to say I’m going home next weekend, see you then. xx” – after a moment of hesitation. He doesn’t receive an answer. 

Two days later he can’t take the silence anymore and calls Phil to ask if he wants to go on a short road trip the coming weekend; the weather is supposed to be beautiful, his parents have promised him full access to the car and he’s already burned three mix CD’s with, each with a painstakingly selected theme. He’s also imagined a range of plausible and less plausible but more lovely scenarios, but of that he won’t breathe a word to Phil. In the time it takes Phil to lay out his plans to attend parties both on Friday and Saturday, and to get in two work shifts before the weekend is over, Dan has time to tear the skin of a total of three of his cuticles, and pick countless threads from his ripped jeans.  
“You can come with though, if you want?” Phil rounds up with.  
“I don’t know any of these people.”  
“You could get to know them.”  
“Yeah but.. I thought we’d do something. Just the two of us?”  
“Come on, don’t be a bore. Or are you too good to hang out with us townsfolk now, city boy?” The last words are a sarcastic drawl, yet they beat down like a whip, leaving Dan with a burning sensation all over. The words still reverberate in his head by the time he goes to bed that night, and still when he packs his bags another two days later.

~~~~~~~~~ 

At the beginning of his second term he had briefly dated a girl in the year above him. He’s mostly surprised and flattered to find that she still shows interest in him after having been nothing short of a drunken fool the first time they had crossed paths. She helps him realise that his love for music is greater than his will to be the best after she lays out her plan to be on top of her field within five years, or give up on her passion altogether. They part ways in what to Dan seems like a surprisingly un-dramatic fashion. 

Just shortly after his trip home had crashed and burned along with his expectations to get some time with Phil away from the city, her successor comes along. It’s in the form of a blonde boy with kind eyes, a business degree and a sense of having his life together in a way Dan can only dream of accomplishing someday. Something about David radiates comfort, and though Dan doesn’t intend to take advantage of that, he ends up falling into something that under different circumstances could have been wonderful. Without knowing it, over time he helps Dan to perform a reality check of sorts, one that is disheartening but much needed. The initial surprise however, is how intensely wonderful it is to feel wholly wanted by someone. No smokescreens, none of the back and forth that he’d been so used to with Phil that he hardly even questioned it at the time. The second surprise is part of the reality check and consists of how it, lovely as it is, feeling wanted and being treated right still isn’t quite enough for him. 

Throughout the months the relationships lasts, not once can Dan bring himself to tell Phil about the change in his status. The one time he does mention his boyfriend by name, he passes him off as a friend, feels his heart erratically beat in fear that Phil will somehow be able to read the truth behind his deceitful wording in the way his voice wavers. When Dan hangs up the phone he’s feeling worse than ever, guilt over harbouring feelings for the wrong person burning his insides and keeping him awake through most of the following night.

It’s not until David breaks up with him, much more gentle and understanding than Dan thinks he deserves, that he truly wakes up and curses his own cowardice. He books a train ticket the same night, giving himself a week to work out what the next move is and how to make it. 

The third and final surprise is how much it truly hurts losing David, despite his heart not having been in it the way he wishes it had. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

On the train journey Dan is torn between feeling high off of his own impending bravery and wanting to shrink into himself with how daunting the task ahead of him feels. The nervous energy thrumming through his body doesn’t even budge when he sits down in front of the old piano in an empty house. He’s decided that catching Phil straight from work would be the best idea, feeling wise when giving himself a leeway by letting his parents think he won’t be home for another couple of hours. Though he likes to think he’s not taking a blind leap, that he stands at least a fraction of a chance of this working out for him, he gives himself room for being shot down and to assemble himself again before he has to face his family. He feels only faintly guilty for planning the ambush, knowing that if given time, Phil’s likely to find himself a barrier between the two, whether it be another person or a place clearly not suited for the kind of conversation Dan wants to, needs to, have. 

He manages to avoid being seen by his parents as they exit the factory and get in their car, relieved to avoid getting caught up in a conversation about his early arrival just yet, and finally spots Phil in the mass of people. He’s still in his work trousers, now rolled up to his knees, but he’s gotten rid of the shirt in favour of one of the loose tank tops that will forever remind Dan of the evenings he spent in the basement doing homework or writing music while seeing Phil dance out of his peripheral vision. Lately he’d been getting more and more convinced that everything about Phil has been intensified and exaggerated in his mind, but his hair is still shining black, his shoulders are still devastatingly broad and though he’s too far away to tell for sure, his eyes surely as blue as Dan remembers. Perhaps even more so, since memories instead seem to fade, get thumbed, tattered and thorn at the edges when they are retrieved and tucked away over time. The image in front of him tugs somewhere low in Dan’s stomach. 

When Phil catches sight of him Dan cautiously waves, suddenly feeling shy in the scrutiny of the older boy. Man, he has to remind himself. Phil’s a man, but Dan feels every bit as much a boy as ever before, standing there rooted and unable to decide if he should move forward or wait for Phil to make his way over to him. By the time Phil reaches him he’s had time to erase any traces of surprise and easily moves in to hug Dan.  
“When did you get here!?” he breathes out somewhere near Dan’s ear, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, all senses working on overdrive taking all of Phil in and threatening to stupify him completely.  
“Like an hours ago. Thought I’d take an earlier train. Catch you here. Surprise you?” he shrugs, cursing himself for barely being able to string a sentence together. Phil huffs out a laugh at his clipped sentences.  
“You do seem eager to catch me. What’s up?”  
Dan shrugs once again. He can’t lay himself out bare here, not at the parking lot of the factory with a few people still standing around, smoking and kicking dirt during lulls in their conversations.  
“Wanna go to the pond?”  
Phil stares at him in disbelief.  
“You took an earlier train from London to go to the pond?” He looks delighted seeing the blush colouring Dan’s cheeks at that. “You’re an idiot.”  
“You’re one by association then. For hanging out with me.”  
“’Suppose that’s true.”

Dan spreads out on his back, eyes reduced to squinty slits from the afternoon sun, as he takes in the scenery. The pond may be past its prime; the rocks covered with moss, the small fountain statue having long ago turned into only a statue, and merely a handful of water lilies are still thriving, but it still holds a certain beauty. The word idyllic surfaces in Dan’s thoughts, but he waves it off as a moment of foolish sentimentality. There was never nor will ever be a place in this town worthy of being dubbed idyllic. Yet he feels light with how easy things had felt this far. Gone was the carefully distanced Phil he’d grown to expect from his last visits, like it had been a rehearsed role that took time to prepare for and get into – time Dan had made sure he didn’t have this time around. The conversation once again flits easily between subjects, for once not running into dead ends after snappy comments from one or both of them. Only when Dan asks about Phil’s dancing the tension seeps back into the conversation.  
“Not as much. I’m kind of beat when I get home from work.”  
There’s a horrifying moment when Dan dreads that what Phil always said happened to everyone stuck in this town, what Dan moved away from, was now also happening to him, but he forces himself to push the thought away. He doesn’t have much choice in the end, because that’s as much as Phil’s willing to give him. They slowly work around the tension, like they’re unravelling it little by little by choosing safe subjects and silly jokes over anything with sharper edges.

Eventually they fall silent; mainly content feeling the sun beat down on them and only occasionally swat lazily at the other when they take turns using their relaxed states as an opportunity to sink fingers into ticklish spots. They both pretend to not hear the way Dan’s breath will hitch whenever Phil’s blunt nails sink a little deeper into his side than strictly necessary. In contrast he holds his breath while he carefully – always so carefully – lets his fingers wander down Phil’s arm, skimming over hard biceps, over soft skin at the crook of his arm, all the way down to the calloused skin of his hands.  
“My hands are oily” he mumbles, cautiously retracting his hand from Dan’s.  
“I don’t care.”  
“Dan.” And then softer, after opening his eyes and seeing the pained expression his warning tone brought upon Dan’s face. “Dan, I-“  
“Do you still not want me then? Then fucking tell me that. Stop indulging me! You always do that, and then you withdraw, and what am I supposed to make of that?”  
Phil makes a frustrated sound, a mixture between a throaty groan and a whine.  
“Okay, yes, I do want you. Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve wanted you all along, even when I tried not to? That everyone else have just felt like a distraction from you? Some big declaration of love?”  
Seconds pass, too many of them, with only a lone bird chirping and his own heartbeat in Dan’s ear keeping the silence at bay.  
“Then what’s stopping… this?” The words come out raw, making Dan sink his own fingers deep into the flesh of his arm much more harshly than Phil ever did, with how utterly young and clueless he sounds. “It’s not like I’m 16 anymore, if that’s what you’re still hung up on.” he tries again.  
“You moved. I’m here.” Phil mumbles.  
“But you’ll be there soon, too.” He pauses. “And when you are I can show you all the best places.”  
The throwback to another conversation, seemingly worlds apart from the present one, does pull at the corners of Phil’s mouth. The tiny gesture has Dan’s heart soaring with newfound hope, but Phil takes his time responding in any other way than the hint of a smile.

“I feel like there’s no one like me in this place.” he slowly gets out.  
“There’s me.”  
“There really isn’t.” Phil’s voice is hard, bitter edges around each syllable. “You moved.”  
“But you could too!” Impatience is starting to leak into Dan’s words, overpowering the uncertain softness previously displayed. Once again carefully avoiding the topic, Phil sits up and starts to tear up fistfuls of grass with mechanic movements.  
“I have too many eyes on me here already, being the ‘ballet boy’ and all. I don’t want to add another name to the list. I would be the talk of the town, you realise that right?”  
“Someone had to be first on the moon, too.”  
Phil makes a face at that.  
“You and your dramatics.”  
The voice doesn’t sound like Phil’s, the words even less so; it sounds like he’s repeating after someone else. Like a parody, only with every trace of humour in his voice and in his eyes stripped away. Dan spares only a second to wonder if those were words that had been directed at Phil at one point. He has time to get up, brush the dirt and the rejection off of himself, and turn to walk away by the time Phil speaks up again.  
“The moon landing might not even have happened. The flag waving in the breeze and all that. There’s no wind on the moon, Dan. Everything is just still. Unchanging.”  
“Yeah.” The single word is spoken so low the wind threaten to steal it away. Exhaustion is the only thing Dan feels. 

He’ll take the next train back to London and spend the whole way sleeping, then wake up with the comfort of having put distance between Phil and him. Then he’ll come home to a flat that he once thought would accommodate two, and feel that distance crumble into nothing.

~~~~~~~~~ 

There had been a time when Dan thought that rejection was better than being kept in the dark, but back then he hadn’t anticipated how rejection wasn’t a one time event, but rather something that would repeatedly punch the air out of his lungs until he’s more used to feel like he’s gasping for air than not. His first instinct when his professor makes a Freudian slip that has the whole class trying to hold back their laughter is to text Phil something dryly sarcastic about it, wording it in a way he knows he will appreciate. When he realises why he can’t, or at least that it’s not something they do anymore, he quickly tucks away both the thought and his phone. He doesn’t take in a single word of the lecture after that. 

Having more time to fill up, or maybe just no longer appreciating the time he had gladly spent alone with his thoughts before, he wanders the streets of London more than ever. Yet he finds that his gaze is no longer flitting around, taking in the surroundings and hoping to find lovely little spots to add to the growing list of places that could become his and Phil’s. 

Late one night – that time of night when every feeling is vibrating just below your skin and the only sane thing to do is to give in to sleep – he unplugs the record player by his bed and gives it a new home at the back of the closet. They’d bought it together at a garage sale, to their delight finding that it worked perfectly once they had carefully rid it of the layer of dust that covered it. After two years of it having its place in the dance studio and the two of them competing in finding the most ridiculous old vinyl’s alongside a few quality ones, Phil had insisted on Dan taking it with him. A blush is threatening to form on his cheeks when he thinks back to how he’d let himself get lost in thinking about the two of them lying on their backs in his London flat, so close their sides were touching, and only occasionally sitting up slightly to take a sip of wine. The record player would play something that was perhaps cliché, but also sounded like it had come right off of a soundtrack for some pseudo-indie move. Sometimes he’d imagine it as David Bowie’s Heroes. Other times it would be Beach Boys’ Wouldn’t it be nice, the song his father used to hum under his breath while he sometimes made breakfast on Sunday mornings in Dan’s childhood. Dan used to sit on the high counter that his mother would never allow him to climb on in fear that he’d somehow topple backwards, kicking his feet happily in rhythm with the song. His father would sweep in to kiss Dan’s mother when he noticed her standing in the doorway smiling at the image, and Dan’s smile would always be a little bit too wide to make the noise of disgust he made particularly believable.

The wind is once again knocked out of him in the morning, when his eyes fall on the now empty spot where the record player had been placed. It’s not just that everything reminds him of Phil; it’s that even nothingness does. He could remove every item that reminded him of Phil from his life and it wouldn’t matter, because Phil’s name is written across all the things that are missing, too.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Silence stretches out, between them and over months. Dan writes and rewrites countless texts, only to lose courage and delete them letter by hopeless letter. Some he actually intends to send when he starts writing; others are angry and raw or simply too filled with emotions that feel sticky and uncomfortable even reading them to himself, and none of those are ever intended to leave his phone. Still it feels somehow therapeutic to see how they would look next to the mass of texts exchanged between them prior to their fallout. The last received text from Phil is just a bunch of smiley faces and a heart at the end, and it’d be ironic if it wasn’t just plain sad. The one time Dan hits send rather than backspace is on the day the dance auditions take place – the day of Phil’s second chance. The amount of different drafts he makes of the two-sentence text alone is a testament to how unhealthily stuck he’s become. In the end, the one chooses to send off is a simple one that doesn’t reveal any of the obsessive effort that went into picking out every word and every punctuation mark. “Good luck today (if you’re trying out.) Still rooting for you. x” He doesn’t get a reply. Maybe Phil thinks he did jinx it the first time around by talking about it. Maybe he thinks Dan jinxed their entire undefined relationship by talking about that. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

For a long time Dan found that it was easy to blame the increasing workload for his lack of visits home. Then comes summer, and he finds that he is out of excuses. He had found himself a job, desperate to spend the summer in London rather than going back home, but he still has two weeks to fill before the start of it and he can’t find it in him to deny his mother when she asks him to spend that time with his family. That’s why he finds himself on the train home yet again, jittery with the mere thought of once again sharing such limited space with Phil. The town isn’t so small as to guarantee that they’ll cross paths, but it is still small enough to make it highly likely. 

It still takes a little more than a week before it happens. His mother had admitted to letting it slip to Phil that Dan was coming home, and Dan didn’t even feel mad upon hearing it, only resigned. Part of him is disappointed not hearing from Phil, in a similar way that he had been to find no reply to his one text. Maybe that is why he eventually gets bold. Keeping up his habits of wandering rather than letting his thoughts wander, he ends up outside the old house that holds Phil’s dance studio. Bargaining with himself, he deems it safe to wander just a bit further into the garden before fleeing the scene, knowing the risk of Phil being there is lessened by the fact that he admittedly doesn’t spend as much time there as he once did. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he is that the chance is almost non-existent, and that’s how he ends up cross legged with his back against a tree, absentmindedly tearing the petals off a dandelion. With the sun filtering through the foliage and the wind rustling the long grass he feels at peace in a way he hasn’t since the soles of his shoes met the platform at the train station. 

It should come as no surprise when the calm is short-lived. If every five minutes he stayed put in the high-risk place was a go at Russian roulette, the fifth round was the lethal one. From his position he sees the door swing open immediately, but it also means Phil catches him almost as quickly. His movements halt for a moment, like they had that time at the parking lot, before he turns his back to Dan and carefully closes and locks the door. Dan uses the time to stumble to his feet, instinctually not wanting Phil to have the leverage of looming above him. 

Phil starts to walk towards him, a small and uncertain smile in place.  
“Thought you didn’t spend much time here anymore.” Dan throws out, trying to sound like he’s on top of the situation.  
“Been here a lot more, recently.” Phil squints his eyes, unknowingly making Dan want to shrink under Phil’s gaze as he takes him in. “It’s good to see you, Dan.”  
It catches Dan off guard.  
“Not good enough to try to see me.” He almost flinches at his own tone, bitter and hard in a way he’s not sure is justified.  
“You can’t blame me for not knowing how to approach you.”  
“Guess not.” Dan finally lets himself take in Phil in earnest. There’s an unhappy tilt to his mouth, anxiousness written in the way the skin between his eyebrows crinkle. “I should go. Good to see you, Phil.” He tries to make it sound sincere, but he’s not sure whether it is. He’s not sure it isn’t, either. Maybe everything just is, no more, no less, and maybe that’s something that he’ll have to grow to accept.  
“Come with me? We could talk. Don’t you think that would be good, to talk?”  
“To yours?”  
“Yeah. Or I mean, I have my own place now, so…”  
Dan squishes the urge to ask why he doesn’t know this, when he became so irrelevant in Phil’s life as to not even get the memo. Talk – talking is good. Talk is what he’s wanted all along.

~~~~~~~~~ 

They end up not exactly talking much outside of the small talk they engage in on the short walk to Phil’s flat. There’s a tension in the air, but it has transformed from feeling stilted to feeling simply charged. For once, Dan is sure he’s not reading too much into the situation. The air between them is so thick with want – fully unfiltered for this first time – that he’d feel embarrassed if they ran into someone on the way; sure the situation could be easily interpreted from the way they keep sneaking glances and finding reasons to touch each other alone. When Dan closes the door behind him Phil reaches behind him to lock it, and then just stays there, consciously intruding in Dan’s space. Suddenly the last thing Dan wants is to talk. He probably couldn’t even if he wanted, his mind oddly blank.  
“Talk later?” Phil whispers, making Dan dig his fingers into Phil’s biceps as he takes in the way Phil’s breath and lips travel over his neck. He can just nod, frantically, shamelessly eager and not bothering to try to hide it. Not when Phil retracts just slightly, looking at him to take in his expressions. Then he gives Dan a sharp tug by his hips, smiling when he comes easily. After that, it’s all a bit of a blur. Dan is hypersensitive of every sensory impressions, aware of every little touch, every look, but still not faltering underneath it. When Phil’s hands explores and exposes skin, he feels like he should tell him to slow down, to give them both time to fully process this. But he also finds that he wants everything but just that, so he just tries to keep up, tries to map out Phil’s body as thoroughly as humanly possible, the way Phil does his. He allows himself to let it all come crashing down on him without shielding himself from it. He feels everything, wants everything, and this time he gets everything. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

The transformation into talking, just barely coming down from their respective highs, goes surprisingly smoothly. Dan decides he always wants to have heavy conversation this way, feeling wonderfully loose and completely engulfed by someone, blanket pulled up high and almost reminiscing a child’s blanket fort made solely for sharing secrets with someone away from the world.  
“I just don’t want you to leave an empty space in your life for me. Don’t want you to wait around for me to become what you want me, or need me, to be. I want you to fill that space up.” He inhales sharply, the rush of words seemingly leaving him a little out of breath. “I know that probably sounds really stupid-“  
“It doesn’t.”  
“No?”  
Dan takes his time trying to gather his thoughts and himself in preparation for what he’s about to say. He keeps lightly tracing patterns on the arm that Phil has slung around his chest, his hand resting right over Dan’s heart. He wonders if Phil can feel his heartbeat, if it is slow and thoughtful or beating fast like the wings of a tiny bird. He isn’t sure himself; isn’t sure whether the numbness he feels comes from the post sex satiation or the critical conversation, either.  
“I think you’re right.”  
“I am?” Phil sounds almost surprised, like he was sure Dan would argue and deny it with everything he had in him. And given their past, Dan realises it’s not a wildly unlikely assumption.  
“I think-“ He swallows, tries again. “I haven’t always been fair to you.” He says it slowly, and it’s in the same moment that he tastes the words that Dan realises how true they are. It feels like an apology without actually forming the word “sorry”, and he waits anxiously for Phil to accept or deny it.  
“Maybe we haven’t been fair to each other.”  
It’s mumbled into the skin at the back of Dan’s neck, sending vibrations down his spine that makes his skin tingle all over.  
“Maybe.”  
Sleep wins them both over just before the sun is about to rise and bring back the warm hues to the world.

~~~~~~~~~ 

The second time Dan wakes up it’s fully bright outside, the sun now filtering through the blinds and forming crisp lines that spreads out over the duvet and their entwined bodies. He allows himself to bask in the feeling of skin against skin for a few minutes, makes sure Phil’s breath stays calm and even. He’s almost frighteningly aware of the fact that last night’s events and conversations is the most closure he can ever hope for. He knows the right thing to do is to stay; to wait for Phil to wake up and untangle himself from Dan’s body and his life. But he also knows that will make him want more. He always wants more, and perhaps that’s the reason things ended up the way they did. So he carefully slides out of Phil’s grip, barely breathing in fear that he’ll make a movement too abrupt. He allows himself to take in the sight in front of him while he gathers his garments from around the room and dresses himself. He doesn’t let himself take a deep, collecting breath until he reaches Phil’s kitchen. There he places his hands on a chair to supports himself, suddenly feeling faint and unsteady on his feet. His eyes fall on a number of letters spread across the table. Most looks like they would contain various bills, which would explain why they’re still unopened. There’s one exception, and what makes Dan’s gaze linger on the envelope is how messily it’s opened, like it’s been tended to in a rush while everything else lies forgotten. In the end, it’s the logo in the corner that urges him to reach for it – Manchester Metropolitan University. 

He barely has time to skim through the first few sentences before Phil emerges from the doorway, bleary-eyes and blinking against the light. Dan’s undeniably caught, not only trying to sneak out but also with a private letter in his hand, but he’s too caught up in the words he has read to feel more than a twinge of guilt. His voice shakes when he lets his eyes flit down to the letter again and starts reading fragments out loud.

“Dear Mr Lester. We are pleased to inform you that you have been granted formal admission to Manchester Metropolitan University… Bachelor of arts, dance… We look forward to seeing you on campus and wish you the best of luck.”  
He looks up, half expecting to see Phil’s face twisted in anger, but instead what he sees is bashfulness.  
“I was going to tell you, I swear I was, I just didn’t know how you’d react.”  
“So you’re going?” Dan asks impatiently.  
“I- maybe? Yeah, I think I might.”  
Dan takes his time folding up the letter and carefully sliding it back into the envelope.  
“You should.” His voice is quiet, careful but yet holds a certain firm edge. “’Course you should go.”  
“It’s not the dance academy.”  
“I know.”  
“It’s not London.”  
“No.”  
“But it’s something, right?”  
And for once, Dan doesn’t make a single attempt to hide away the tender note that finds it way into his voice around Phil whenever he doesn’t catch himself in time. Nor does he make any attempt to stop the smile that somehow both comes easily and painfully difficult, knowing the implications of the letter he’s still clutching in his hand.  
“Yeah. It really is something.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far; thanks for reading! This story has been with me for a long time, and finally it's down on paper with the help of my lovely beta and friend [silverandcyanide](silverandcyanide.tumblr.com). Find me [here](still-in-blossom.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Feedback is always an amazing thing.


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